Five Simple Rules For Dating My Friends

Five Simple Rules For Dating My Friends

I’m getting to that age where a lot of my friends are starting to get serious into the girlfriend trap. Shit, some of them are even married. And I’ll give a disclaimer to any of them that are reading this: I think you’re great, relax, this isn’t about you.

Me? I’m nowhere close mentally to wanting to settle down. I’m happy for my friends that are settling down and moving in together, I really am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have some ground rules for continuing our new-found friendship.

Don’t talk about views I disagree with.

Without getting too political here, because it’s not the forum, if we agree on politics or personal lifestyle choices, you’re golden. However, if we don’t (and you’ll know it right away), don’t bring it up. The second you start bashing Dubya is the second I start drinking faster. When I start drinking faster, I’ll get a little more pissed off with every word that’s coming out of your mouth. And when that happens, it’ll probably end up with you asking my friend if you can leave because I’m an asshole. You might even cry because I attempt roast you on why I disagree with progressive taxation policies. We’ll get along swimmingly if you agree with me or even just act like you agree with me, as much as it kills you. You getting along with me is infinitely more important to your survival as a girlfriend than me getting along with you. Simple as that.

Don’t look down on my lifestyle.

Look, I get it: you’re happily settled in with my friend. You guys go to the farmer’s market, generally make it home by midnight even on a Friday, maybe even shit with the door open. But I’m not there yet. Introduce me to your girl friends? Definitely trying to hook up with them, so deal with it. Grossed out by what’s in that water bottle on my counter? Yeah, I dip a can of Skoal every day. It keeps me regular. Think I’m an alcoholic because I usually start off every Saturday with a Miller Lite in bed? Okay, I’ll give you that one.

But I’m going to be honest: not a lot has changed since college. I just have a job now, and I’m spending my own money instead of my parent’s. I enjoy going out and drinking to the point of forgetting how bad I struck out with that cougar. Shit, I’m writing this with a lip in, a coffee mug full of Wild Turkey and wearing a sweatshirt from high school. The list goes on and on. Don’t rain on my parade. I’ll grow up someday and you’ll be so proud, but until then, be seen and not heard.

Let us run.

When we all go out together, it’s usually a blast. I’m going to possibly be friends with you for the rest of my life, so I appreciate the time we get to hang out. Sometimes though, boys gotta be boys and we need to go out solo. Whether that’s going off the grid at my farm and shooting guns and drinking cheap light beer for a weekend or having a night where we totally didn’t go to the strip club until the sun came up, it’s necessary. We were all in undergrad or the same fraternity together, and we have to try to relive those days to an extent. Give us some guys nights every now and again, and I’ll respect the hell out of you.

Don’t pull me into a fight.

This hasn’t happened to me in a while because my friends have done a better job of dating great chicks, but there’s nothing worse than texting me about a fight you’re having with one of my friends. Guess what? I screenshotted that shit the second I got it and sent it to my friend. You’re losing this battle 100 times out of 100. If he’s wrong, I’ll let him know but expect no sympathy from me. I have a history with my friends — not you. It’s simple as that.

No fall weddings.

This is one of those things that speaks for itself, except apparently some people have it in their heads that they need to have a fall wedding. Scheduling a wedding during hunting/football season is the quickest way for me to get on the road to hating your stinking guts. Sure, I’ll show up, but I’ll be groveling and miserable about it the entire time, especially if I can’t stream my alma mater’s game.

Oh wait, I’m missing a great weekend in the dove blind and you have an open bar? That’s a surefire way for me to not holding myself responsible for taking a one-way ticket on the Blackout Express. September to December is four months. There’s a full other 8 months to have your perfect day and not worry about pissing off every guy like me out there.

Now that we’ve covered the ground rules, you’re good to go. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you ahead of time.

Image via YouTube

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I had a dad bod before it was cool.

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